


One Follows the Other

by 1863



Category: DCU (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics)
Genre: Bruises, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 10:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1863/pseuds/1863
Summary: For once, it's Apollo who doesn't want to talk.





	One Follows the Other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Panny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panny/gifts).



**OPAL CITY. FIVE DAYS AGO.**

Apollo regains awareness just in time to see Midnighter’s eyes go wide with panicked horror.

That can’t be right, Apollo thinks. He frowns, confused. Midnighter saw every possibility, knew every potential outcome of every potential action. If surprise was a rare look on him, then outright panic was rarer still. 

And then the rest of the scene around them comes rushing in, sights and sounds assaulting Apollo from all sides, like someone hitting the play button after a movie’s just been paused: the unmoving bodies on the ground, the wail of emergency sirens, the piles of rubble where buildings used to stand. And Apollo looks at Midnighter again, and he’s saying something — no, _screaming_ something — and he’s holding out his arms, and then shielding his face, but not before Apollo sees the fear darkening his eyes. And Apollo frowns at that too, because Midnighter was never afraid during a fight. Never.

It’s not until Midnighter is hit with a blast of light, light that’s a sickeningly familiar shade of gold, that Apollo starts to understand. 

Midnighter wasn’t afraid for himself. He was afraid for Apollo. 

***

**[REDACTED]. THIS MORNING.**

“Easy, M.”

“You do remember that I heal fast, right, Apollo?” Midnighter sounds amused but he can’t stop the grimace of pain when he tries to climb out of the car on his own. “Okay,” he concedes. “Ow.”

“Stop that,” Apollo says, pulling the car door all the way open before leaning in. “Here, let me just —”

He wraps one arm around Midnighter’s back and gets the other one under Midnighter’s thighs, then very carefully scoops him right out of the car. For a long moment, Apollo just stands there, holding Midnighter close to his chest — as close as he can without aggravating Midnighter’s injuries any further. He can feel M’s breath against his throat, a steady pattern of inhales and exhales, one after the other. He counts them for a minute, each breath, and tells himself that they’re not going to stop any time soon. It still takes a while before he’s able to force himself to move.

“You heal fast,” Apollo says, as he climbs up the porch steps and heads for the front door. “But you’re not invulnerable. And you were — you were hit hard.”

There’s a catch in his voice and Midnighter goes still in his arms when he hears it.

“Apollo —”

“One second.”

He gently puts Midnighter down on the porch chair — a loveseat, really — and fishes around for the keys. Midnighter sighs but stays silent for now, watching him unlock the door. 

“I can walk,” he says, when Apollo tries to pick him up again. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t carry you.”

Midnighter shakes his head, but there’s a small smile on his face and he settles into Apollo’s arms readily enough, head resting against Apollo’s shoulder. 

“We could’ve just called for a door back in Opal City,” he points out.

“Would’ve missed the drive, then.” 

Apollo can feel Midnighter’s eyes on him but he doesn’t say anything more. It wasn’t just about missing some pretty scenery and they both knew it. For one thing, Midnighter had spent most of the drive dozing in the passenger seat anyway, while Apollo got lost in thought, mind going through endless loops of hazy memories that never got any clearer. And truthfully, Apollo wasn’t sure that he wanted them to.

He needed the extra time to think, the space to try to push aside what was going on in his head and focus on Midnighter’s recovery. If they’d just used a door and stepped straight into the cabin it would’ve been too much, too soon, and it’s already almost more than Apollo can take. He feels off-balance, untethered, and right now it seems like it’s only Midnighter, his solid and reassuring weight in Apollo’s arms, the familiar shape of his body against his chest, that’s keeping Apollo from flying apart at the seams. 

“Bed or couch?” he asks, when they’re inside. 

Midnighter raises an eyebrow.

“To rest,” Apollo clarifies. He shakes his head. “You’re incorrigible.” 

Midnighter just grins. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“Just for that, I’m making the decision for you.” 

He glances down and forces himself not to flinch at the state of Midnighter’s face — the livid streaks of half-healed bruises across his cheekbones, the dark smear of a black eye. His lower lip, swollen where it had been split open; the cuts and scratches where his mask left the lower half of his face exposed and vulnerable to — to a lot of things. Flying debris. Solar blasts. Solar burns.

Apollo blinks in surprise when Midnighter’s fingers slide slowly into his hair. M’s not smiling anymore.

“Hey,” Midnighter says. “I might be healing slower than usual but I am still going to heal.” His lips quirk a little. “I’ll be back to my handsome self in no time, I promise.” 

Apollo tries to smile back but from the look on Midnighter’s face he doesn’t quite manage it. M opens his mouth and Apollo knows what’s coming — more kindness, more reassurances that Apollo should be offering to _him_ , and not the other way around. Midnighter, after all, was the one who was bruised and broken.

“Sorry,” Apollo says quickly, cutting off whatever Midnighter was going to say. “Holding you like this can’t be comfortable for you.” 

He sets Midnighter down on the couch with more care than he’s had to use in a long, long time. The weight of what they’re not saying hangs heavy in the air but he ignores it, smoothing down M’s shirt and brushing a lock of hair off his forehead instead. Apollo knows he can’t avoid talking about it forever — and in fact, he doesn’t want to — but he just doesn’t have it in him to do this right now.

Midnighter grabs his hand before he straightens back up again. 

“Andrew.” His voice is quiet. “It’s not your —”

“I need to unload the car.” Apollo bends down and gives him a quick kiss before gently pulling his hand free. “I’ll be right back.” 

Midnighter stares at him for a moment.

“Take your time,” he says, catching and holding Apollo’s gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

***

**OPAL CITY. FIVE DAYS AGO.**

He thinks he’s dreaming. 

Apollo isn’t sure why, exactly. But there’s a strange quality to the light, like it’s being filtered through an unseen prism and bent into unfamiliar refractions, making everything look just a little bit off. But as strange as the world may appear there’s nothing fake about the smell of burnt metal in the air, or the haze of smoke and dust from obliterated buildings and torn-up roads. And there are bodies too, caked with so much dirt they’d be camouflaged in the rubble if it weren’t for the bright splashes of red here and there, trickling from noses and dripping down temples and leaking from the corners of slack, unmoving mouths. 

Apollo looks around and destruction follows his gaze, the burst of explosions and the roar of engulfing flames devouring everything in his line of sight. He feels strange, light-headed but calm, his lack of understanding a comfort more than a worry. Someone else was making the decisions for him and it was — nice, really. No pressure. No thought. No consequences. Just doing what comes naturally. 

There’s a sense of warmth inside him now, a warmth that gets stronger and stronger, a burn that gets hotter and hotter. But Apollo feels no pain — in fact, he feels the opposite. A sense of euphoria as the world around him is painted gold, drenched in purifying yellow light, and there’s a power growing inside him that feels so _right_ , so easy, so perfectly natural to wield and use and unleash at will, ready to release at just the right time —

And then out of the corner of his eye he sees a flicker of something black, the swirl of a long dark coat and a figure that goes still as Apollo turns his head. And something bleeds in, pushing through the haze until there’s a fracture in the bubble that’s encasing his mind, a fracture that widens into a crack: recognition. Apollo knows this figure, this man; he knows this man is here to help him. And then that man is screaming, and crouching down like he’s bracing for a blow, and even as the light around him starts to dim Apollo knows something else now, too — that he _isn’t_ dreaming, and that something is very, very wrong. 

The next explosion is deafening. Apollo blinks and shakes his head, trying desperately to clear it, stumbling forward and squinting through the clouds of ash and debris. And as he looks around a terrible understanding starts to dawn, a nauseating certainty that there was only one thing that could have caused all this, and if he hadn’t seen Midnighter slumped motionless on the ground then Apollo might have sunk to his knees and thrown up right there and then. Instead he flies straight for him, and after sparing a few seconds to make sure that Midnighter is still alive — and he is, he _is_ , he’s _alive_ — Apollo takes to the sky, shooting straight up with Midnighter’s broken body cradled in his arms, flying away and trying to leave it all behind him in the wake of a sonic boom.

***

**[REDACTED]. THIS AFTERNOON.**

“How’s the water?”

“Fine. Warm.” Midnighter leans back and closes his eyes. “Just like you.”

“You’re getting better at the suave lines thing,” Apollo says. He pulls Midnighter closer until their bodies are pressed flush against each other, Midnighter’s back against his chest and head against his shoulder. The bathtub isn’t really big enough for the both of them but Apollo can make do. He lathers up the soap in a small washcloth and starts running it over Midnighter’s arms, careful of the bruises that are still purple and blue and not yet the half-healed yellow of the ones on his face. The impact that caused these injuries was much, much heavier and the damage was much, much worse, despite M’s enhanced durability and the armor that lined his uniform. 

Apollo swallows as he rinses off Midnighter’s skin, suddenly glad that M can’t see his face. Midnighter hasn’t been injured this badly in years.

“You know,” Apollo says, trying to distract himself from sight of Midnighter’s battered body, “this position isn’t very practical for getting you clean.”

“Who said that was my goal when I suggested it?” Midnighter glances up at him and raises his eyebrows. If he catches the look on Apollo’s face before Apollo can hide it, he doesn’t mention it.

Apollo shakes his head. 

“I’m not fucking you in the bathtub while you’re still banged up, M.” 

Midnighter laughs quietly. “Even I have to admit that would be a bad idea,” he says. “But I didn’t say anything about fucking.” He turns his head and presses a kiss against the side of Apollo’s neck, lips brushing his pulse point. “Maybe all I need is... a helping hand.” 

“Like I said before,” Apollo says with a sigh, “you’re incorrigible.” 

The clear affection in his voice makes Midnighter grin, and he settles back against Apollo’s chest without complaint. 

For a little while, Apollo just keeps doing what he’d intended to do in the first place, swiping the washcloth wherever he can reach — over M’s shoulders and arms, his stomach and back and thighs. But Midnighter gasps when Apollo starts cleaning off his chest, arching up into his touch when the cloth brushes over his nipples. Apollo dips his free hand into the water, fingers trailing over Midnighter’s abdomen before tracing the line of hair there and sweeping further down.

“Are you sure?” Apollo asks. “If your injuries get worse —”

“They won’t,” Midnighter interrupts. “Apollo —” 

He tips his head back in silent request and Apollo gives him what he’s asking for without hesitation, bending his own head down and kissing him deep. Apollo tosses the washcloth aside in favor of tangling his fingers into M’s hair, cupping the back of M’s head as he deepens the kiss even more, until Midnighter is arching up and moaning into his mouth. 

“Please,” Midnighter says, breathless, when he finally breaks the kiss. “I need to — need to feel your hands on me. Just want to focus on that instead of... everything else.” He kisses along Apollo’s throat. “I just want you, Apollo. Please.” 

Apollo answers by smoothing his fingers over M’s stomach again until he’s got M in hand. Worry makes him more hesitant than he’s been in a long time but Midnighter responds as quickly as he always does, and soon enough he’s panting in Apollo’s arms, legs spread as wide as he can get them, bracketed by Apollo’s thighs and the confines of the narrow tub. Apollo is suddenly aware of just how quiet it is out here, miles away from the city — the only thing he can hear beyond the sound of their heavy breaths is the splash of the water as he speeds up his hand.

“God, Apollo,” Midnighter whispers. His eyes are shut tight and Apollo strokes faster, squeezes harder. “Please, almost —”

“I know,” Apollo says. He kisses the top of M’s head, his temple, his ear — anywhere he can reach, really — before M turns his head again and reclaims Apollo’s mouth.

It’s not much longer before Midnighter tenses against him and then a few more strokes is all it takes — M comes gasping against Apollo’s lips, hands gripping either side of the tub. 

When he’s got his breath back Midnighter tries to sit up but Apollo stops him, wrapping both arms around his waist and keeping him in place.

“Come on, Apollo,” Midnighter protests. “Let me —”

“No need.” 

“I want to. I mean, that’s half the fun.” He shifts a little, pressing back against Apollo’s stomach more firmly until Apollo inhales sharply, hips moving a little against his will. 

It would be easy, he thinks, to just let it happen, to lose himself in a moment of pleasure freely given. But when he closes his eyes all he can see are the bruises and the burns, the cuts and the scratches, the exact shape and shade of each one scarred into his memory. It wouldn’t be easy at all, actually. It shouldn’t be.

Apollo holds Midnighter still and shakes his head.

“Not until you’re better,” he says. The strain in his voice has nothing to do with being half-hard and he's pretty sure they both know that. 

“I can handle a hand job, Apollo," Midnighter says, and lets him pretend otherwise. Apollo feels a surge of gratitude that's almost as strong as his guilt.

“I’m sure you can,” he manages to reply, “but I’m still not letting you.” 

Midnighter sighs. There’s a moment of heavy silence and Apollo’s heart starts pounding as he waits for M to respond, so hard that M must feel it too, thudding against his back.

“Well,” Midnighter says eventually, setting himself back against Apollo’s chest, “as far as incentives to get better go, that’s a pretty damn good one.”

Relief washes over Apollo in an intense wave.

“Exactly,” he manages to say. His throat is dry, just barely able to keep his voice steady.

Midnighter closes his eyes. “Asshole,” he murmurs without heat. He sounds a little resigned but fond all the same, and there’s a faint smile at the corners of his mouth.

Apollo contemplates looking for the washcloth again but instead, he closes his own eyes too. The water is still warm and Midnighter is a solid weight against him, relaxed and warm and absolutely, indisputably alive. He tightens his arms a little, needing to be just that little bit closer, that little bit more reassured. If it hurts at all, M doesn’t show it. 

For now, Apollo thinks, just for now, this is enough. Everything else can wait.

***

**SPYRAL HEADQUARTERS. TWO DAYS AGO.**

“He’ll be fine. Eventually.”

“You mean his injuries will heal.” 

A beat of silence. 

“I mean he’ll be fine, Apollo.”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to tear his eyes away from Midnighter’s badly beaten face. “Thank you, Dick. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Dick shrugs and offers a small smile. “Helena knows she owed you a favor, after what happened in Modora. Besides,” he adds, “she also knows that I’d never let her hear the end of it if she turned you away.”

Apollo stares at Midnighter’s hand on the infirmary bed. No broken fingers, but the joints are so swollen that he won’t be able to move them properly until the swelling goes down. The Midnighter, Apollo thinks, unable to make a fist. It’s almost an incomprehensible thought.

“Spyral has a safehouse,” Dick is saying. “Not far from Opal City. It’s in the middle of the woods — secluded, quiet. Secure.” He pauses for a moment. “Helena said you’re welcome to use it for a few days, if you want to. Might be a good place to rest, you know? And work through —”

“The fact I nearly killed him?” 

“That wasn’t you, Apollo.” Dick’s voice is matter-of-fact. “And I’m sure Midnighter knows that. I mean, he did... _catch_ the metahuman who took you over.”

“Catch,” Apollo repeats, and shakes his head. “You don’t need to use euphemisms, Dick. I know what kind of man M is.”

“Then you should know that he wouldn’t blame you for something you couldn’t control.”

Apollo reaches out and skims his fingers over Midnighter’s bare arm, his bandaged shoulder, his bruised chest. 

“He didn’t even fight back, you know. Midnighter,” Apollo says quietly, “ _not_ fighting back.” He shakes his head again. “He knew what I could do to him and he didn’t even _try_ to fight back.” 

Dick is silent for so long that Apollo glances over at him. There’s on a look on his face that Apollo can’t read — something soft and hard at the same time, like a kind of deep gratitude mixed with an even deeper sort of regret.

“I’m not so sure that’s true,” he says, eventually. Dick turns and meets his eyes. “You said he didn’t fight back. But you broke through the metahuman’s control before you went full-on solar flare, right?”

Apollo frowns. “What are you saying?”

“ _He_ may not have fought back,” Dick says, and gestures to Midnighter on the bed. “But it sounds to me like he made damn sure you did.”

***

**[REDACTED]. THIS EVENING.**

“You’re getting good at this.”

Apollo shrugs and presses a strip of tape to the edge of yet another piece of gauze on Midnighter’s back. “You give me a lot of practice, sometimes. Although…” He trails off. “This one’s all on me.”

Midnighter tries to turn but Apollo grabs his shoulder, carefully but firmly keeping him in place. Apollo is sitting behind him and there’s no way for them to see each other’s faces, but he can imagine the look in Midnighter’s eyes anyway and he isn’t sure he can take it. 

“I’m not done yet,” Apollo adds. Midnighter tenses a little, muscles shifting under Apollo’s fingers like he’s about to pull away, but in the end, he just goes still.

“I know I can’t stop you from blaming yourself,” Midnighter says, “but at least tell me you know that _I_ don’t blame you for anything.”

Apollo doesn’t answer right away, busying himself with the task at hand. As well as taping up fresh bandages he also rubs a salve over Midnighter’s burns and bruises, gently massaging it into his skin until it’s fully absorbed. Most of M’s body is a discolored mess of purple and yellow and blue and even though he knows it could have been worse — much worse, _immeasurably_ worse — it’s not a comforting thought. 

It’s slow work but eventually Midnighter gives into it, the gentle pressure of Apollo’s fingers and the herbal scent of the salve lulling him into relaxation. 

“I know you don’t blame me,” Apollo says, when he’s finally done. “And I love you for it, M, I do. But —” Apollo leans forward and presses his forehead against the back of M’s shoulder, against one of the few patches of skin that's still clear. “Just let me take care of you for now, okay? You’re hurt worse than you’ve been in a long time and I just… need to take care of you.” 

Midnighter tries to turn again and this time, Apollo doesn’t stop him. 

“Okay,” M says quietly. He cups Apollo’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone before his hand slides down, fingers curling around the back of Apollo’s neck. “Just as long as you understand that I didn’t agree to come here just so _I_ could get better.” 

He leans forward and brushes his lips against Apollo’s, the kiss no less meaningful for being chaste.

“Do you remember when you told me why you chose your name?” Midnighter asks, pulling away just far enough to see Apollo’s face.

Apollo nods. “I said I’d always be here to pull you back into the light.” 

Midnighter smiles. “I don’t have a poetic reason for why I chose my name,” he says. “Actually, I don’t even remember the reason at all. But it still worked out in the end, don’t you think?”

Apollo frowns a little. “I don’t understand.” 

Midnighter pulls him closer and kisses him again. “Apollo, the light, the day,” he murmurs against Apollo’s lips. Another kiss, deeper this time. “Midnighter, the darkness, the night.” He pulls back and smiles again, but his eyes are surprisingly serious. “One follows the other, right? Always. It’s inevitable.”

Apollo stares at his bruised face, at his blue eyes, at the soft curve of his smiling mouth. 

“Always,” Apollo agrees quietly, and when Midnighter leans in again, Apollo just closes his eyes and meets him halfway.

***

**LATER.**

This time, Apollo knows, it’s definitely a dream. 

He’s back in the midst of the rubble but it’s not like it was before. This time, he doesn’t see that figure in black, the sole person left standing while everything around him burned to the ground. There’s no snap of a coattail at the corner of his eye, no familiar voice to call out to him and pull him back. And so the heat within him builds unchallenged, builds and builds until he’s burning with it, _devoured_ by it, until even Apollo’s superhuman body is unable to contain its strength. 

It bursts right out of him, the solar flare expanding in all directions and obliterating everything in its path. People and plants and birds and flowers, cars and buildings and trucks. Everything gone, completely incinerated, leaving no trace that they’d ever existed at all. There’s absolutely nothing — not even piles of rubble or broken pieces of bone, just — nothing. Nothing at all.

And as the edge of the flare races away from him, unstoppable and too fast for even Apollo to outpace it, he sees a dark figure standing perfectly still as it rushes towards him, waiting for the inevitable with his back straight and his eyes wide open, refusing to look away. 

He doesn’t look afraid. 

And then the flare rips right through him, flames engulfing his uniform, his body, his face. But still he stands unmoving, staring right at Apollo until his eyes turn to ash and his bones turn to dust as Apollo tries in vain to remember his name —

And Apollo wakes up gasping, eyes stinging and lungs choking on the scent of burning skin and kevlar and hair.

***

**NOW.**

“You’re okay, Apollo. You’re awake.” 

M’s fingers are carding through his hair when Apollo sits up, still coughing and heart hammering wildly in his chest. He blinks into the half-light — Midnighter must have turned the lamp on some time after Apollo fell asleep — and sees that Midnighter is wide awake too.

“Did I —” Apollo starts, and has to stop and swallow, his throat painfully dry. “Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah.” Midnighter pauses, almost hesitant. “You were having a nightmare.”

Apollo looks away.

“It was nothing,” he lies. “You need to to get some rest —”

“So do you.” 

“I’m not the one covered in bruises that should’ve healed by now,” Apollo snaps. He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. “Sorry,” he adds, and the word is like a shock to the system; like a switch being flipped, or a bomb going off — whatever held him back before collapses without warning, just disintegrates to nothing like the people and buildings he’d turned to ash in his dreams. Apollo says what he should have said days ago, forcing the words out despite them cutting through his chest. “Jesus, M,” he says hoarsely, voice raw with guilt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t — I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ —”

“Apollo.” 

Midnighter reaches up and pulls him back down, until they’re lying side-by-side and face-to-face. The bruises that stain Midnighter’s cheeks and jaw are still visible even in the low light, although the swelling in his lip and eye have gone down. Midnighter stays still for a moment, but when their eyes meet he cups the back of Apollo’s head and holds him in place, not letting him look away.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Apollo closes his eyes but Midnighter keeps going, his voice quiet but clear. There were things he needed to say too, and Apollo knows he’s got no right to stop him.

“The block was evacuated before you got there, Andrew. The only people left were working for the asshole who took you over. The one who —” Midnighter inhales sharply and his voice hardens. “The one who violated your mind.” 

Apollo doesn’t respond. The last vestiges of the dream are still there with him, images flitting past his closed eyelids like projections on a screen: ruins and rubble, death and dust. He can still smell the acrid smoke, still taste the ash on his tongue. 

“I could’ve killed you,” Apollo says. He opens his eyes. “And you would’ve let me.”

Midnighter says nothing for a long time, watching him with a look on his face that Apollo doesn’t understand. He looks more serious than Apollo has ever seen him, and as well as they know each other, as much as they’ve been through together — as much as they love each other, Apollo has no idea what’s going on behind Midnighter’s blue, blue eyes. 

“I know how to win,” Midnighter says eventually. The sound of his voice after the prolonged silence makes Apollo jump a little, and Midnighter pulls him closer. “I see every possibility, I see every outcome, and I choose the one where I win. That’s what I do. But that day…” He takes a deep breath. “That day, there _was_ no outcome that was an outright win. The only ones that came close were where I stopped your solar flare.”

Apollo remembers the burning heat inside him, how easy it all felt, how _right_. He shuts his eyes again and wishes he could forget.

“And there were only two ways I could do that,” Midnighter continues. 

The hand cradling the back of Apollo’s head slides down, over the nape of his neck and down along his spine. Midnighter rubs circles into the small of Apollo’s back and shuffles closer, closer and closer until they’re wrapped right around each other, a tangle of arms and legs and skin pressed against bare, warm skin. 

“I could kill you,” Midnighter whispers against Apollo’s throat, “or I could let you kill me.” Midnighter’s arms tighten around Apollo’s shoulders, even though Apollo knows it must be straining his injuries, even though it must be causing him pain. “Don’t you get it, Apollo?” His voice is even quieter now, muffled against Apollo’s throat. “I’m the one that should be apologizing, because I didn’t even try for option one.” He presses his face into Apollo’s neck. “I couldn’t do it. I don't know if I'd ever be able to do it. Even if it means the whole world burns.”

Apollo pulls him even closer. For a while they do nothing but lie there, holding each other, just existing in the same space. That they came so close to not even having something as small as this is a thought too momentous for Apollo to dwell on. Instead, he curls himself around Midnighter’s body, mindful of his injuries but still enveloping him as best as he can, as though he could somehow shield Midnighter from any further harm.

“That’s not a weakness, M.” He presses a kiss into Midnighter’s hair. “Don’t _you_ get it? You just did what that fight computer in your head always lets you do. You won.” 

“But —”

“We’re both still here, aren’t we?” Midnighter falls silent. “I’d say that counts as a win.”

They say nothing more after that, content to be where they are, as they are. And for the first time in days sleep claims them gently, wrapped around each other so thoroughly that it’s impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Darkness gives way to dawn and fills the room with sweet morning light, but Midnighter and Apollo sleep on, oblivious, as all around them, the day begins anew.


End file.
